


5 times Jim Kirk wasn’t actually trying to kill himself

by oddegg



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-30
Updated: 2010-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-08 13:05:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddegg/pseuds/oddegg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the reboot kink meme, for the title prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 times Jim Kirk wasn’t actually trying to kill himself

1.  
Sending that-fucker-Bobby's car off the cliff and nearly sending himself over after it hadn't got a thing to do with any death wish, or survivor guilt or any of the dumb explanations that the social work counsellor had given his mom.

It wasn't even that he was angry with fucker-Bobby either, even if the bullying shit _had_ hit him.

It was that making things go really, really fast and then making them go boom was damn fun.

And he hadn't felt as full of life in all of his eleven years as he did in those seconds after he threw himself out of that door; not quite sure whether or not he was going to make it.

 

2\.   
The bar fight that Pike rescues him from isn't Jim's first. Not by a long shot.   
It was even, by his standards, a fairly tame one.

Admittedly, his standard for a _dangerous_ bar fight had been set when he was 17 and had insulted a Nausicaan in a city dive. Having a guy pull out a knife longer than Jim's dick and lunge at him with it was hard to top. Especially when all the guy's buddies had similar ones as well.

After the cops had broken it up his best friend at the time had stormed off, shouting that if Jim wanted to go get himself killed with that stupid fucking mouth of his, he could leave Gary out of it.

So yeah – Cupcake and his pals barely even registered.

 

3.  
Bones was the one who took him to the Academy clinic, and waited while they pumped his stomach and shot him with a detox hypo that left him feeling like something small round and furry had mated and then died in his mouth. Bones was also the one who dragged his ass back to the dorm and reamed him out while simultaneously fussing over him.

"I mean, for god's sake man! Why the hell were you drinking that rotgut? Even the damn Klingon's find it strong so of course you're going to get alcohol poisoning if you finish off a bottle to yourself! What the hell where you thinking?!"

Jim had rolled onto his side to face the wall and stayed silent. When he spoke again Bones' voice had been gentler.

"No one passes the test, kid. Not ever. Even if they are stupid enough to go back for seconds like you. There's no shame in it"

But it hadn't been the stomach pumping or the alcohol that had made Jim's gut burn.

 

4.  
He'd known what he was doing was risky. But he'd been thinking more about what the effect would be on Spock and it wasn't until his back hit the console with a cracking noise that meant some damn thing was broken, and he only hoped it wasn't him, that he remembered about Vulcan's having superior strength.

The old adage about not pulling the tiger's tail crossed his mind as well.

And all he could think, as Spock snarled into his face and tightened fingers around Jim's throat – Jim's own hands scrabbling helplessly trying to break his hold – was

_'No fucking safety net here, Jim. Crash landing'_

His vision was nothing but sparkling darkness when the Vulcan finally let go, and he was too busy trying not to throw up or pass out properly to hear Spock excusing himself from the bridge.

 

5.  
When he leapt off the walkway on the Narada he hadn't actually been sure if he was going to land safely.

He'd done it anyway.

 

**…and 1 time he was**

The halls of the Academy are eerily quiet now. An eighth of the number of cadets is just not enough to fill up the space like usual. Through the windows the sight of the occasional red uniformed figure making its way across the grass is a shock.

There are injuries and hole's left in his crew now (_HIS_ crew. He knows he should feel more pride in that thought), just like there are in his ship. Left thrusters scraped raw and deck six exploded, along with countless other damages, mean that the Enterprise is in dock at the moment, engineers swarming over her like ants.

His people need time to repair themselves as well. See their families, mourn their losses. They've had the ceremonies and all the back slapping, and Jim can admit he rode the high from that for a few days but it's back to real life now. It's back to near six thousand of his fellow cadets and officer's dead. To getting used to coming across people looking lost and in pain in the corridors of the dorms, emerging from rooms with their dead daughter's/son's/sibling's possessions in a box.

Having to bring himself up sharply to speed with the un-guessed bureaucracy of command. Yeah or nay-ing postings once the ship is operational again. Listening to Bones bitch and panic over his own new duties as Chief Medical Officer on board. Trying to hide his own growing numbness with everything he has to deal with.

That's where Bones is now – off reviewing candidates for new posts. And then, Jim knows, a weekends leave to spend precious time with his daughter. It's good that Bones has got someone, even if he has to fight his ex-wife for every minute of access.

Jim had called his mom after his Captaincy ceremony. She'd said congratulations and he'd felt every minute and mile of the space between them. He hadn't called since, and neither had she.

He didn't quite know what he was doing here, in his old dorm rooms. He'd been sleeping in his newly assigned officer's quarters for a couple of days now after all. It wasn't as though he couldn't assign someone to pack his belongings away, or even as if he had that much stuff to collect.

So it was strange, the reluctance he felt to leave the room once he'd come in. Even if packing up his room-mates effects took five times as long as packing up his own. He'd arrived at the Starfleet Academy with just the clothes he stood up in. And even in the three years since then he hadn't managed to collect much. Packing Rajiv's belongings up took a lot longer, even if you took into account the fact that Jim had found his stash of Saurian Brandy five minutes in and was making good headway into it.

At least the fire of the stuff pepped him up a bit, cut through some of the blankness he'd been feeling. It was like pushing on a door wedged shut. You shove and you heave and then everything suddenly opens up before you, but the momentum carries you on and you fall down flat on your face. That was how Jim felt recently. Like he'd fallen and he couldn't quite gather the energy to draw himself up again, with an awful, empty weight pressing him down till he struggled to breath.

It was about then that he found the bra.

It was under the cabinet between the beds, and the worse thing about it – the thing that strangely hit him and made him sit down – was that he honestly didn't even know whose it was.

It could have been Gaila's, or the chick he'd been banging from engineering's (she'd been small but built). It could even have been left over from an encounter of Rajiv's, though god knows how his room mate would have been able to slip that one past him.

"Always told you, Raj old buddy" he said to the empty room "Make sure they take all their shit with them in the morning. They leave something and it just gives them an excuse to come back"

No coming back now though, was there? Gaila was gone, and Raj and any hypothetical conquests were gone and Jim was left here, half drunk, with a tension headache and feeling like a shit because he can't remember engineering girl's name.

She's dead too, whatever it was.

Rajiv, bless him, had been a borderline hypochondriac and the remains of his portion of the bathroom cabinet yield plenty of pills that'll help Jim try and deal with the headache. He takes two, washing them down with another swig of brandy, and then another for luck.

The second type of pill he takes – two again, still sitting on the stripped bed, bra in hand – is for sleeping, because he _has_ been sleeping poorly the past couple of nights. He may be the Captain of all the space he can handle, but he's been having bad dreams. He washes them down with more of the brandy.

In the end he's got all the pills out of their bottles and has lined them up in regimental rows on the cabinet, picking them out in a linear fashion to woozily swallow down with more alcohol, when he becomes aware that – hey? Is that the door?

Something seems to be slowing Jim's reaction's down, but when he wobbles his head over he recognises the figure of Spock. Who is weaving back and forth. This makes Jim feel funny and for some reason Spock's voice sounds very far off when he says  
"Captain? I have been attempting to contact – …I must ask you to clarify what you are doing, Sir!"

Jim would roll his eyes at Spock, but he kinda feels like they'd just keep rolling if he did. And he would think it was obvious what he was doing anyway – he was taking all these pills that he'd carefully lined up here. The pills would make sure that this numbness didn't bother him again. They'd let him sleep.

The comforting grey softness he'd been reaching for was just starting to wash over him then, so Jim thought it was understandable that he reacted badly to Spock hauling him up off the bed and into the bathroom. His weak attempts to fight the Vulcan off were ultimately useless though and, with some new form of psi-point nerve pinching, Spock had him throwing up all his nice pills and all his happy, anaesthetized alcohol and what felt like all the meals he'd eaten in the last two weeks in the toilet.

Jim wasn't sober after he'd finished and his mind wasn't completely clear, but he was nearer to both than he wanted and he spat both curses and bile into the bowl at the end.

"Fucker! _urr – urr_ – Fuck… what the _fuck_ did you do that for?!"

Spock's voice was still level when he answered, but Jim could hear the emotion underneath it, like the pre-warning tremors in an earthquake.

"Your questioning of me is inappropriate, Captain. I came across someone acting in an irrational manner and responded accordingly. _I_ however have the right to ask you what…"

Spock broke off and reached out a hand as though he couldn't help it. He grasped Jim's forearm and asked, with an infinitesimal touch of bewilderment in his tone  
"What did you expect to accomplish with this?"

Jim turned to – he didn't know. Answer? Bitch some more? Scream his loss and his pain at someone who'd had more of it recently than Jim could imagine? Six thousand hardly compared to six billion after all.

But as he turns Spock's hand slides down to Jim's bare wrist and Jim can see in the slight widening of the Vulcan's eyes that the knowledge touch gives him has told him more than Jim could ever do with speech.

They stay there, frozen for a moment, and Jim could almost swear that this touch telepathy thing went both ways. That his own hurt and pain rang against Spock's own and echoed back to him till he was besieged by suffering and all he could do – to ease them both – was act on instinct like he did best; and so he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Spock's.

Spock's lips are softer and more yielding than Jim had imagined they would be. And he's slightly freaked out to realise that he _has_ imagined this. That he's wanted Spock's mouth on him, Spock's hands on him. And the only way he can cope is to press for more. Lean in and open himself up for Spock's tentative reciprocation. Run his own hands up the other man's arms to rest and grasp and pull at his shoulders, pull him down on top of Jim on the floor.

He can feel the tension in the Vulcan's body, the want warring with his innate instinct to control and he grinds his own sudden hardness up against Spock's before the other man has a chance to think, to speak. Because he _needs_ this! He needs it and Spock needs it – both need some way to ground themselves, to fill up the emptiness that they know is out there, filled with destroyed planets and broken starships bleeding out the frozen bodies of their friends.

Spock makes a noise deep in his throat that could be protest or encouragement – Jim doesn't know – but he makes no move to stop Jim as he thrusts his hand between them to undo their trousers and free their cock's. He makes no move to help but he doesn't hinder either as Jim lines them both up in his fist and starts thrusting.

Jim had kept his eyes closed till now, had never been able to kiss without that, but now they were just breathing and half moaning into each others mouths he opened his eyes to watch Spock's, dark with unreadable emotion swimming deep within them. He can't close them again, however much he wants to, as his own grip tightens and speeds up and he can feel the tension in his body build up to an unbearable level before Spock cries out and stiffens above him and he feels the Vulcan spill in between them as he lets go himself.

* * *

He still feels shaky, even as his heart rate slows and his breathing becomes more even, and he knows that despite his throwing up earlier he's going to be regretting his foray into booze and pills. But he can't be properly sorry for it – even when Spock pulls away suddenly and straightens his clothing without looking at Jim. It got him what he – what they _both_ – needed.

After a long beat of silence Spock looks back at him with an expression that, in any one else, would speak of helplessness and says hesitantly   
"I must confess myself to being uncertain as to how to proceed with – this… This…"

Jim knows he could laugh; could make light of this. Make it an 'incident' and less than it was, but his voice is, for once, serious as he answers  
"'This' was something Spock. This was…"

He breaks off and looks into Spock's eyes. Still troubled, but troubled with the same truth Jim feels as well. He finishes softly  
"…I think this is our lives now"


End file.
